


they stare when you walk in the room (yeah, we're lookin' at heaven)

by Yellow_Bird_On_Richland



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alexis and Twy are badass independent businesswomen, Dirty Talk, Episode: S07E12 The Spark, F/F, Flirty!Twyla Sands, Fluff and Smut, Jealous!Alexis Rose, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive!Alexis Rose, Twyla Sands' Freckles, Who also have pretty significant praise kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28848567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland/pseuds/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland
Summary: Alexis knows she’s naturally competitive. Like, hello, she literally had to earn her parents’ love starting at age six and her eye for fashion hadn’t come in yet, so she was screwed compared to David. And she’s gambled for her freedom more times than she can count—is it even a weekend if you don’t bribe the Monaco police with express delivery shipments of fine Ghirardelli truffles and Roederer Cristal Rose champagne?So she’s not exactly surprised to find herself gravitating toward Twyla when more and more hopeful suitors approach her as the night goes on. Plus, Twy’s her guest. The horde of guys hitting on her? They’re so not invited back to her place.It’s then that she realizes. She doesn’t just wanna take Twyla Sands home.Like all the boys surrounding them, she wants to take Twyla Sands home.
Relationships: Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27
Collections: Schitt's Creek Season 7





	they stare when you walk in the room (yeah, we're lookin' at heaven)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCSeason7](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCSeason7) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> 7x12 - The Spark
> 
> This is the generic, catch-all prompt for all things related to new relationships and reigniting old ones. Claim this prompt if you have an idea for a work that doesn't fit any of the other 7x12 prompts.
> 
> Fic title and concept adapted from "Homegirl" by King Princess.

"Ugh." Alexis rolls her eyes at David's totally unnecessary triple question mark response to her latest message, then texts back, _Yes, I meant Jealous Sea Green. It's a play on Poseidon, David, brush up on your ancient myths! I did, although Stavros never even invited me to his mansion near the Mediterranean. He can eat hot glue for that. Anyway, you wanted a bougie yet tacky name for that Greek sea salt candle you made Stevie for her birthday and asked me to help. Take my expertise._

She presses the "Send" button with considerably more force than necessary as she leaves the bathroom and tells herself there's no particular reason she's been drawn to the idea of emerald-eyed envy.

She's Alexis fucking Rose, after all. She doesn't _get jealous._ She gets whoever she wants.

_"So you're admitting you want her, then?"_

She scoffs. _"No. I don't_ _want want_ _Twyla. I_ _do_ _want to keep her from being hit on by Evan's cringe-y NYU business school bros,"_ she counters herself.

_"You don't have to intervene, though. You know Twy's more than capable of taking care of herself."_

_"In Schitt's Creek, sure,"_ she allows. _"But New York is a different animal, even if we're at a pretty upscale art show hosted by my coworker's fiancée. And what kind of host would I be if I let Twy get swept away by some random Banksy wannabe?"_

Alexis can admit she's using her own recent dating experiences to paint that less-than-charitable picture of the latest guy who flirted with Twyla while they were wandering through the exhibits. There'd been the guy who insisted they went dutch at a diner, the guy from the club who'd put so little effort into getting her off during their one-night stand that she didn't even bother trying to fake an orgasm, and the guy who'd randomly ghosted her after two weeks of above average conversation.

She swallows down the urge to unleash the few lingering remains of her old mean girl persona as she approaches whatever new guy has shown up. Still, it's not Alexis' fault that he's patently unworthy of her Twyla's time.

Or whatever _guys_ are now surrounding her at her perch by the bar in the art studio's basement. They give off the standard entitled NYC vibe of dudes who party hard and seem avant-garde; they're the kind of snakes Alexis used to know, but Twyla doesn't seem bothered by their presence. She's nearly regal, bantering along with each interested man in turn, holding court with the easy confidence of a woman who _knows_ she can get anyone she wants wrapped around her pointer finger in a matter of minutes, if not seconds.

" _That's how I used to be,"_ Alexis realizes with a start as she watches Twyla offer winning smiles for some and polite yet firm dismissals to others. She's a regular Bachelorette at this ritzy warehouse deep in Bushwick, rendezvousing with so-and-so (some nerd in an oversized polo shirt saying that the simplistic oil painting of robotic limbs resting on a lazy Susan is "incredibly brave"), and Alexis' heart skips a beat as she realizes she might have to compete for her affection.

" _No, no, for her attention,"_ Alexis hastily corrects herself. _"I don't want Twy's affection. At least, not in that way."_

She's been on the receiving end of plenty of kindnesses from Twy over the years, after all. Green meadow smoothies during their vent sessions—which, if Alexis is being honest, was usually more her complaining to Twyla than the other way around. Generous tarot card interpretations. Text message hype over her #workflow selfies.

But when Twyla gazes at her over the top of her nearly empty gin and tonic glass, staring her down not like they're best friends, but as if Alexis could be a potential suitor, something inside her rattles loose and cracks.

And as she approaches Twyla, she thinks, _"Two can play this game,"_ with more sexual bravado than she'd initially planned to present.

" _Especially considering she's visited me here three times since my move and nothing outside the scope of best friendship has come remotely close to happening."_

So she relaxes a little and dials her cat eyes way back, but still casually swipes the empty glass out of Twyla's hand and loads on the charm as she tosses a twenty dollar bill down on the table, telling the bartender, "A vodka soda for me, and a fresh gin and tonic for the lovely lady in blue, please."

Twyla turns toward her, away from whatever guy is pretending to be a daring art critic. "Awfully presumptuous of you to assume I want another drink, Alexis."

She doesn't mean to flirt back. She really doesn't. She just can't help her penchant for rising to such obvious challenges.

"I think we've been acquainted long enough for me to know _exactly_ what you want, Twy."

"Well, then." Twyla raises her glass and shoots off a coy smirk before quipping, "To unspoken desires."

Alexis' breath catches as she sips on her drink and she nearly chokes, but, after a second to compose herself, manages to answer, "To unspoken desires. And as far as spoken ones go," she extends a hand to Twyla, "dance with me?"

She's careful to couch that statement somewhere between a question and a demand.

"It would be my pleasure." Twyla catches Alexis' hand with her own as she alights from her bar stool.

The music in the actual gallery space was standard art museum fare, mostly light, inoffensive jazz.

Here, a staccato guitar riff slices through dimmed lights, and Alexis frowns at her dumb blonde moment, because offering to dance to a song you don't know is _such_ a party faux pas.

Twyla, though, simply nods her head along to the rhythm, taps her foot, and throws in a little hip shimmy before she starts clapping her hands to the beat and sings softly:

_Guess I'm contagious,_

_It'd be safest if you ran,_

_Fuck, that's what they all_

_Just end up doin' in the end._

She spits the obscenity out, gives it a dagger's edge with her hard pronunciation, and the end of the "k," honed to a fine point, buries itself so deep in Alexis' chest that she can't help but gasp.

Twyla glances up, eyes flashing as the lights occasionally play over her face. "You good, Lex?"

"Yeah," she nods, willing her voice to hold steady. "Just—I don't think I'd ever heard you swear before."

"Well, given the number of older cafe patrons who won't go much further than saying 'dadgummit' or 'crap,' I always figured it's better to watch my language there," Twyla laughs. "And growing up, I did the same thing, since there were so many little kids in our family and I had to set a good example. But..." her grin is all teeth. "I think I can give less of a shit about being prim and proper in New York. It's kinda nice, being able to be anonymous here, for a little bit, isn't it?"

The lights dip low again as Twyla pulls her close, then pushes her back with a breathy laugh in a dance Alexis doesn't know the steps to, and she's never been more grateful for her staring to go undetected as she takes in yet another surprise from her best friend. She's used to her eclectic blend of zany, sad, semi-macabre, tragicomic stories, but this is the first time her physicality's coming across as something to track. The first time since she's moved to New York that Alexis recognizes there's some residual magnetism between them. She'd caught that barely-there hum in Schitt's Creek because, yeah, she and Twy are two attractive boss babes. And there's a low-level intimacy that stretches between people in close proximity who can both admit, "Hey, you're pretty," in a super casual way.

But tonight, that hum is rising in pitch. It's less white noise, more noticeable. More of a buzz, as the song's chorus builds:

_I need noise,_

_I need the buzz of a sub,_

_Need the crack of a whip,_

_Need some blood in the cut.  
_

_I need blood in the cut,_

_I need blood in the cut._

Twyla goes into a tame headbang as the guitar and drums swell in, and Alexis follows her movements with some ease. Dares to step closer to her.

"Didn't think you'd be such a rock star," she murmurs.

"Between Sum 41, Simple Plan, and Treble Charger all being Canadian, punk and alt rock was, like, _the_ soundtrack at high school parties," Twyla answers, brushing her hair out of her face with one quick swoop of her hand and Alexis catches a glint of light in one of her silver bracelets as she reaches out for her.

"Sorry." Twyla quickly drops her wrist after tugging her nearer. "The guy behind you...I thought he was gonna bump you, so…"

Alexis flutters her hands to swat away the apology. "Oh, it's fine. Thanks, Twy."

_"I'd rather have you pulling me close instead of some creep who wants to grind up on me, anyway."_

Being on a dance floor with Twy reminds her of David's wedding, the two of them decked out in their accidentally coordinated black and white dresses, like queens on the opposite ends of a chess match. Alexis had, of course, gotten her dance card punched by just about everyone for at least one song, but she'd taken the most turns with Twyla and Stevie.

She hasn't played chess in a while, not since she'd been hanging out with Leo, but she knows the queens are, by far, the most powerful pieces on the board, able to move unshackled. And if your queen gets taken, your path to victory narrows to a tightrope.

She's plenty taken with Twyla, and more or less on the verge of letting herself be captured.

" _And not as bait, for once."_ She gives a mental sigh of relief, rolling her eyes at how often _that_ happened in a past life. The Carabinieri know a few of her aliases now, but thankfully, she hasn't had any reason to get up to trouble in Italy recently. _"But as a gambit."_

She mentally arranges the setup pretty easily, thanks to one more mixed drink and three (or six) more songs spent admiring her best friend's willowy figure as they dance together. She'll sacrifice a not-insignificant portion of her dignity for the chance to find out what it's like to kiss Twyla Sands. To start.

" _Call it the Rose Gambit,"_ she decides when they catch the subway to head back to her apartment.

**

On the ride back, Alexis reflects, _"Maybe gamble would be a better term."_

She's been living the "kiss first, ask questions later" lifestyle for the better part of her time in New York, mostly because her commitment to building "the premier marketing agency for small to mid-level businesses and nonprofits in the New York tri-state area" trumps taking the time to finding and cultivating a relationship with someone.

Which is where she's coming to a bit of a challenge.

" _Because I think what I'm feeling for Twy runs more than skin deep. It's not only lust."_

Even if, at the moment, Twy's physical features are distracting her from maintaining her balance—it's second nature to her now on subway rides, and her sea legs have gotten plenty of use. Good thing, too, since she's counting the freckles that dot Twyla's face and imagining what they might look like when her cheeks are flushed with heat and her lips—still shimmering lightly from the pink gloss she'd borrowed earlier on during the evening—are the tiniest bit swollen and—

" _Easy, girl."_ Alexis forces her gaze to slide past Twyla, onto the subway map to their right, even though she knows where they're going.

Or rather, she knows where they're literally going. Metaphorically, she's drifting, vacillating between making a calculated risk and calculating whether said risk might be too great.

She sways slightly as the train accelerates through a turn, and Twyla clutches at the outside of her waist, letting her touch linger as she guides her back in toward the subway pole they're both holding.

"Thanks."

"Of course." She offers what Alexis has, over the years, come to catalogue as her favorite Twy smile, soft and the tiniest bit lopsided. And with their height difference, Twyla's looking up at her like she's hung stars in this dingy subway car. "I got you."

Alexis automatically moves her free hand to rest over Twyla's as she smiles back at her. "I've got you too, Twy."

She's not sure if it's their shared affirmation, their matching smiles, or the touchpoint on her waist that does it, but a wave of flashbacks flicker through her mind, switching every few seconds like she's viewing them through a kaleidoscope.

Getting ready for their night out at the Wobbly Elm, Twyla looking almost shocked at her beautiful reflection.

Laughing about some inside joke during the Singles Week key event, their foreheads nearly tilted together.

Twyla teaching her how to actually, truly ride a bike, beyond her initial advice of "put one foot on the ground, put the other on the pedal, and get the hell outta here!"

The two of them jamming to State of Grace and Party in the USA at David and Patrick's reception, Alexis exaggerating her body's motions to demonstrate exactly how one can move their hips "like, yeah," per Miley's instructions.

When they'd said goodbye, how she'd trailed her hand down Twyla's arm after their hug and run her fingers through her hair and asked, almost nervously, "I don't mean to tell you how to spend your money, but maybe you could use some of it to come visit me?"

How she'd thought for a few seconds that she would lean forward and press her lips to Twyla's in that moment.

A couple of epiphanies, courtesy of those memories, arrive for Alexis three stops before their destination.

First, she doesn't just wanna take Twyla Sands home.

Like all the boys surrounding them all night, she wants to _take Twyla Sands home._

And second, the thought of being on the prowl for a male pronoun in the cesspool of NYC's online dating scene still makes her cringe.

But the thought of maybe making a move in the general direction of getting herself a girlfriend? A Canadian lottery winner with the most generous spirit she's ever known, to boot?

Well, _that_ idea makes her glow.

**

"You okay?" Twyla asks as they're trekking toward her apartment. "You've been pretty quiet ever since we got on the subway."

"Yeah. I'm just a little tired."

" _Tired of being unable to figure out how to say a few small words, such as, 'I'm into you.'"_

The difficulty, for Alexis, stems from how she can usually sense something of an inevitability to sparks, to first kisses, to people being into her. Typically guys, because nuance apparently doesn't come in the standard range of human expression for most garden variety bros.

She can't quite get a bead on Twyla's headspace, and while she could certainly just ask, something about being that direct feels oddly invasive.

" _I wish there was some more subtle way to venture toward it. To start that conversation."_

She wracks her brain to no avail during the rest of the walk back. The answer presents itself just after she unlocks her door and holds it open for Twyla in a sweeping gesture, and Twyla shrugs her jacket off as she walks past her.

Her mom's voice comes to her in a distant echo, and she remembers that odd piece of flirting advice she'd shared all those years ago when they'd gone out to the Wobbly Elm: _If and when someone catches your eye, hold his gaze. Then walk up behind him and trace a single finger down his back._

" _Might as well see if it works on women, too."_

"Hey, Twy?" Alexis makes her voice small, not wanting to call too much attention to herself, not wanting Twyla to move too much, but hoping to catch her eye, just the same.

She only turns her head to answer. "Hmm?"

Alexis slowly, deliberately trails her pointer finger all the way down Twyla's back, holds her breath, and hopes she remembers, too.

The way she stiffens as she turns around says yes.

"Is there some lint on the back of my shirt or something?"

Alexis groans inwardly—" _Or maybe she doesn't know what I'm doing"—_ and changes tack quickly. "Do you remember the night we went out to the Wobbly Elm?"

"Sure."

"And you went home with that guy after you got his interest by…" she mimes her motion again, but Twyla just frowns.

"Are you saying I flipped a switch after that mini-makeover and got more flirty with him?"

Alexis gives a muted huff. "No—I mean, you kinda _did,_ but," she barely holds back an eye roll, "you're seriously telling me you don't remember, Twy?"

Her frown mutates to doe-eyed confusion, with something like a light rain storm written in the creases across her forehead. "Remember what? I'm at a loss here."

"What my mom told us? About my dad and John Cougar Mellencamp, and her little flirting technique?" she prompts.

"No, I really don't. Was it—no, I don't think that was it," she muses thoughtfully, and Alexis, with a gracelessly muttered, "Fuck it," defenestrates her last reserves of caution and patience.

"Her foolproof trick for flirting with guys at bars. Run a finger down their spine, and if you get 'em alone in a dark corner somewhere, boom." She flings her hands out and splays her fingers wide in an approximation of confetti, then surges on a touch awkwardly. "Not that the bar part, nor the flirting with guys part, apply here. But the rest of it does. Because…" she forces the words out in a rush. "I'm into you, Twy."

"You are?" she asks back, but it barely comes out as a question. "How much?"

Alexis freezes up a little. "What do you mean, how much?"

"Like, is this a just for tonight thing? Or are you looking for something a bit more than that?"

"Something more, definitely," Alexis answers quickly, and watching Twyla's worried expression gloss over into a gentle smile has her nearly laughing in relief. "If you'd be interested."

"I would be," she agrees, slowly stepping closer to Alexis.

Alexis pulls her close, a reversal of their time on the dance floor, and starts to murmur, "Can I—", but Twyla's already got her hands looped around her neck and she's nodding serenely because of course they're catching the same vibes from each other.

She doesn't need the encouragement, but Twyla whispering, "Please kiss me, Alexis," in a low, urgent, throaty rasp is the best exhortation she's ever gotten.

It starts off soft, gentle, and she's so, so glad she'd thought to share her Tic Tacs on the ride back.

Her fingers tremble against Twyla's jawline, and she gives the tiniest pull there with her thumb, daring Twy to open her mouth a bit to deepen the kiss as she tugs her in a bit closer to herself, with a desperate hunger she didn't know she possessed.

It's a few seconds after that when reality tips off its axis.

Because Twy—sweet as homemade cinnamon-topped apple pie _Twyla Sands_ —suddenly has her right hand tangled in her hair and uses her left to hike her right leg up, clutching the side of her thigh and digging her nails in there as she insistently pins her to the back of her front door in a swift, greedy motion, and, like, _whoa._ Alexis isn't mad at the unexpected development, just stunned. It's nearly criminal, how effortless Twy's making this, how easily she's whisked them from first kiss to first makeout, how she's pushing them deeper into the kiss 'til Alexis can feel it in her core, and she can't help but moan, _"Twyla,"_ in wonderment when they pause to breathe.

Twyla levels her with a smirk before she drawls, "Must've really impressed you if you're using my full name." She looks up, grinning like a cruel summer devil, and Alexis realizes she's a goner seconds before the two of them start waltzing toward her bedroom, clinging to each other the whole time, steadfastly refusing to break contact until they topple onto her bed.

Alexis manages to keep her lips to herself long enough to ask a question that's been pinballing around her mind since around when she'd initially stolen Twyla away from her gaggle of suitors.

"Had you thought about this at all before tonight? About...us?" she wonders hopefully, reaching out for Twyla, but she's already scooching closer to her.

"Not a lot. Mostly because I didn't think you'd want me, not when you could have anyone in New York."

Alexis responds, quicker than she means to, "You know dating's mostly been an unmitigated disaster for me since I moved here, right?"

"You _have_ told me that," Twyla agrees, "but still. I figured someone here would figure out how special you are and sweep you away. Until this evening." A tiny grin sneaks onto Twyla's face, and while Alexis can normally read her pretty well, she can't right now.

Twyla continues, "When I noticed you glowering at the first guy who talked to me at the art show tonight, I figured, oh, Alexis must have some NYC radar telling her this guy's a douche. But," her grin widens a tad, "When you were mean-mugging the one after him, and then the third one, too, I realized someone was annoyed she didn't have my full and undivided attention."

Alexis nods. "Guilty as charged."

Twyla leans in toward her and murmurs, "Which is why I kept flirting with any guy who showed me a hint of interest."

"You knew I was jealous?!"

"How could I not?" Twyla scoots back and her exuberant laughter rings true, skips lightly over the covers, and Alexis can't work up the willpower to be even mildly offended, especially not when Twy adds, with charming, unguarded earnestness, "You were practically _green_ with envy, babe."

Twyla blushes and backpedals, her freckles burning on her cheeks, and it feels like a fishhook just lodged itself in Alexis' navel, even as Twyla stammers, "I'm—can I—is that ok—"

She's helpless to do anything but lightly catch her wrists, nod, and whisper, "It's totally ok that you just called me babe, _darlin."_

It's been ages—since Ted—since she's gotten to kiss someone's anxiety away and doing that with Twy feels terrifyingly right.

"It's also totally okay that _someone_ saw fit to play a little game earlier," Alexis continues (she keeps her eyes on her best friend's mouth when her lips can't be there now; that's fine, it has to be). "I suppose."

Twyla's shrug is beyond brazen, a masterfully nonchalant gesture, as is her breezy answer. "I'd say the ends justified the means this time."

"You're not wrong," Alexis concedes just before she sidles up next to Twyla, letting her breath ghost over her lips, waiting until Twyla's just about to kiss her once more before she arches back, reveling in the groan Twyla can't quite stifle.

"Patience, Twy," she teases. "You had your fun earlier, even if I was an accomplice to it. I have a little game for us to play. Or, actually, it's less of a game, more of—"

"Less rambling, more kissing me," Twyla interrupts gently, pulling her back in by the front of her blouse and that's good, that works. She stops after another couple of minutes, wearing a Cheshire cat grin that Alexis might just be falling for, and motions toward her. "Sorry. Continue."

"Okay, so I read this thing, you can do with your partner," Alexis begins, cataloguing the pleased little head tilt Twyla makes at her word choice, "and it's basically…"

She pauses, unable to figure out what to say next, and can't help but ask herself, _"How has a waitress from one of the smallest towns in Canada turned you into an incoherent mess, babe?"_

"It's basically what?"

There's Twyla, ever thoughtful, still wearing her semi-casual blue dress, her voice a touch melodic as always, but her eyes...her gray-green eyes are glossed over with lust and Alexis now intimately knows that her mouth's good, _very good,_ for much more than belting solos with the Jazzagals and yeah, that's how.

"It's three questions. What you like, what you want, and what you need."

Her statement comes out a bit more forceful than she intends, but she's just realized they're still fully dressed, and the thought of Twyla stripping her clothes off makes for one hell of a blood rush.

Except she's left the "clubbing til the wee hours of the morning" lifestyle behind more or less for good, and it's going on eleven, and she doesn't wanna jump too far ahead of herself and assume Twyla's down for any and everything.

In a past life, putting pajamas on would feel like admitting defeat, but now—

" _Whatever,"_ Alexis thinks; she'd rather be cozy, and she's not gonna want Twy any less if they're each in a t-shirt and shorts. She appears a bit stunned by the rapid fire queries, anyway.

So she notes, with a touch less urgency and much more warmth, "It's three things you'd wanna tell your partner when you're kinda starting to get physical with each other. Think 'em over while I get changed?"

Twyla's face falls for just a second and Alexis quickly amends her statement, throwing in a heavy bat of her eyelashes as her voice drops low. "I just wanna get more comfortable, but trust me, I'm absolutely not going to bed yet, Twy."

"Okay." Despite her blushing, she adds on, "Good. Because I don't wanna go to bed yet, either."

Alexis tries to calm her frayed nerves as she swaps her getup out for her pajamas in her bathroom and rushes through an abbreviated version of her usual nighttime moisturizing routine, but having someone—no, not someone, not just anyone, having _Twyla_ admit that she wants her?

It's electrifying, but also rather mundane, in a kinda nice way.

Alexis has made out with women (and done more than make out with them) in clubs, in casinos, on yachts, on planes, and at parties, but rarely ever at home. Like, she couldn't tell you what brand of toothpaste Carly Rae Jepsen uses, but she knows that little fact about Twy now (and it's Crest ultra white). And there's something refreshing about trading kisses that aren't laced with an undertone of Patron.

"So," Twyla begins once they've reconvened in bed, with pajamas on and makeup off, "about those three questions. What order were they in?"

"What you like, what you want, and what you need," Alexis responds promptly. "It's sort of like an incline of importance." She raises her hand up an invisible slope.

"Okay." Twyla nods to herself a couple of times, then answers, "First question is easy. I like you."

"Aww, Twy, you absolute sweetheart."

"It's true," she insists, laughing as Alexis boops her nose. "And for what I want: I want your expressive, forever aflutter, piano _maestra_ hands." Twyla grabs both of them, gives them a gentle shake like she's holding lucky dice, and it's Alexis' turn to laugh.

The sound dies as Twyla keeps talking.

"I wanna know what it's like to feel your hands skim down my sides to my waist, or have them run down my back, or along my shoulders." She inclines her head ever so slightly toward Alexis and murmurs, "Would you want that, too?"

It takes her a second to breathe, because Twyla's words and tone—grounded in the intimate, hinting toward the explicit, served up to spark excitement in her bones, specifically—are threatening to crack her apart at the seams.

"I. Yeah. I would," Alexis manages to answer, and Twyla's responding smile somehow conveys sweetness and the kind of danger she can never resist.

"Last thing, then. What I need. Hmm...it's not strictly a physical thing." She frowns. "Is that alright?"

"Of course, Twy! It's totes fine," Alexis reassures her, grabbing for her hands once more.

"Okay." She nods as if to steel herself, then confesses, "I need reassurance, I guess, that things won't get strange between us with potentially exploring that 'something more' you mentioned earlier. That we'll still be best friends, too, like we have been for a while, now."

"Yes, yes, yes," Alexis chants emphatically, sealing her final answer with a kiss and a solemnly promised, "Hunny p, Twy. Best friends no matter what."

"Thanks, Alexis. It's been a while since I've been interested in such a long-time friend, and I just—I don't wanna mess _us_ up at all, you know?"

"Absolutely, I do," she confirms. "And I totally agree."

"That's wonderful, and so is getting to do this."

Alexis is pretty sure she's lost a brain cell or two from Twyla's unexpected kisses, but she can compensate.

"Before we get too distracted," Twyla hums after a few seconds, "care to tell me your answers to your questions?"

"Ooh, definitely! I'm stealing your first one—I like you." She blows by that as she blushes and continues with, "I want noise. I wanna hear all the different ways my name can come out of your pretty little mouth."

Twyla's eyes bug out for a sec, but she recovers long enough to answer, "I think that can be arranged."

"And I need…"

She hesitates.

Vulnerability hasn't come easy to her since Ted. No one's been worth opening up to all that deeply, so she's kinda out of practice, and she's always struggled a little to square this particular desire to be soft, to let herself be cared for, with her otherwise assertive, confident personality. Not to mention, a lot of guys in her past misconstrued what she wanted.

She's fairly certain Twy won't, though, so she forges on. "I need communication, too. But a specific kind. Like, what you enjoy about what I'm doing to you or for you in this whole—" she flutters her hands between the two of them. "Experience."

Twyla tilts her head to the side and asks slowly, "So you want affirmations, then? Maybe praise?"

"Yes! Excellent word choices, Twy."

"Okay. Um, I can try that. I just—I haven't exactly done this before," she admits a touch shyly. "Like, when guys have asked me to tell them what I like, it's in more of a dirty context and, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think you're looking for that."

"You're right. At least, not right now." Alexis winks.

"Alright, then," Twyla laughs and, with her gaze locked on Alexis, asks, "Where do you want me to start?"

Alexis has one hand curled possessively around her waist and the other combing through her hair in a flash as she murmurs, "Let's start here," just before she leads them to sink into another kiss. "If you wouldn't mind," she giggles lightly, smirking at Twyla's breathlessness.

"Not at all," she laughs back, shaking her head. "God...kissing you is almost too much fun. And dangerous. You balance on those lines between tender and sweet or hot and heavy really well. It's like you know what I want almost before I do."

Alexis preens at the compliments. "I'm not trying to brag, Twy, but I'm kinda an expert at making out with gorgeous women, and that definitely helps."

"I'm glad for your expertise, but I'm even more glad that this feels really personal. That this isn't just playful and that you're not only fooling around with me for a story," Twyla admits quietly. "You're invested, you're present, and it makes everything all the better." She glances up, her eye contact wavering for a couple of blinks. "How was that? In terms of communicating what you do that I like?"

She doesn't get enough sun these days, a downside of not living down on the west coast like Lana says, but she can feel herself practically glowing at Twyla's praise. "That was…" she searches for words, can't come up with any good ones, settles for just saying, "Yes," as she nuzzles against her before finding her lips again, and she's pretty damn sure Twyla gets the message without her having to say anything.

But she's also curious—Moira would probably say nosy—and she doesn't know a ton about what makes Twy tick, so she asks, "Would you want any compliments? Is that a thing you're into?"

"I'm not totally sure one way or the other, actually," Twyla responds after thinking it over for a beat. "Whatcha got to offer?"

"Well," Alexis starts, waving her hands and then holding them out flat at equal height, almost like they're resting on one of the tables at the cafe. "You really see me. In a way a lot of the guys I've been with lately haven't. Which, alright, if I'm trying to get with Zac Efron or someone like that for a booty call, I can pardon unadulterated thirst." She grins as Twlya laughs, then goes on, "But if there might be actual, mutual interest, like, what's wrong with getting to know each other a bit, even before a fling?"

"I would think that'd make things more comfortable for both parties."

"It absolutely has for us, if you don't mind my saying so," Alexis concurs. "And you're…" she pauses for a beat. "Present, like you said, is a good descriptor. It's really obvious you care and I can," she blushes as she confesses, "I can feel that when we kiss. If that's not too lame a thing to tell you."

"Not one bit," Twyla whispers back as she shakes her head, and negation has never sounded so good.

After a few minutes, Twyla comments, half out of breath, "I seem to remember mentioning something about wanting your hands running up and down my back?"

Alexis isn't an outright shitty person anymore and hasn't been for years, but she can't always deny her impish urges.

"Did you?" she drawls at Twyla. "That's not ringing any bells."

"Alex _isss,_ " Twyla complains, her voice arcing up in a whine before she's cut off with a kiss. Resisting Twy is way too much work, anyway, and feeling goosebumps rise up as she gently trails her nails down her back makes for a delightful sensory reward.

So, too, does Twyla's appreciative murmur of, " _There_ we go. That's my good girl."

Alexis freezes mid-kiss and prays the squeak she just emitted passes unnoticed.

Twyla's expression shifts and darkens, and she might be a shark that just found blood in the water.

"Did you like that, Alexis?" Twyla asks innocently, then follows up with a more pointed, deadly whisper before she can even nod. "Did you like hearing me say you're _my...good...girl?"_

Her responding _"Yes"_ is a desperate, uncivilized growl and she surges forward to kiss Twyla, the sound and fury of her action signifying nothing but raw, animal _need_.

It's probably not the healthiest thing ever, to want the red flush in Twyla's cheeks to outline her vision when they're up to no good like they're starring in some cheesy porn flick, but she also can't control her galloping heart rate or the sense that she can only stop kissing Twyla to breathe or—

"Tell me more. About what I do that you like. Please."

Or stop herself from _literally begging_ for more affirmations from her favorite woman, apparently.

"Gimme a sec," Twyla rasps out and it's all Alexis can do to keep from lunging back in for more of her. She'd be terrified that she's taking this—whatever this is—too far except Twyla's eye-fucking her something fierce, too, and her next words emerge slowly.

"This isn't exactly an affirmation, but...I get it now," Twyla admits, her voice rough, and she continues before Alexis can express her confusion. "Why Ted railed you in the Rose Apothecary bathroom. Because you're just _that_ goddamn irresistible."

She can figure out where Twyla learned that tomorrow. Or next week. Or any other time, really, when she's not kissing and sucking her way from the corner of Twy's lips to her jawline to her neck before detouring back up to whisper in her ear, "Don't you dare stop swearing."

"Keep this up and I'll do what _ever_ the fuck you want, babe," Twyla answers, the words nearly searing the air above the bed, and her fist clutched in Alexis' hair feels like a sealed contract, an ironclad promise.

Alexis thinks it needs a tiny amendment, though. "Whatever _we_ want," she murmurs against her lips before finally slowing down to coast for an interlude—even on an open highway, you can only gun a Maserati for so long. "I'm all about enthusiastic consent."

"This is me, enthusiastically consenting to more," Twyla responds as she pulls Alexis close before adding on, "Really, though, Alexis—thank you for that. It's nice to have someone actually verbalize it for once."

"Any time. And I mean that, like, _any_ time. I don't ever wanna assume people are up for activities if they're not totally feelin' it."

She hears the words her brain chooses and laments, _"Why? Why do you still fog up so much around her?"_

Twyla softly answers, "You're gentle in all the best ways, you know."

" _That's why."_

**

They make a fine, muted frenzy for a bit after that, all deep kisses into deeper breaths until they're starting to loop back around to less restrained lust. Until Alexis asks a deeply important question. One she should have posed a while ago.

"Twy. How are you still wearing your old Schitt's Creek High School soccer practice shirts to bed? You're loaded! At least invest in some silk or satin pajama sets. Those aren't even that expensive," she insists. "You could try one of mine on if you want."

Twyla glances down to where Alexis is not-so-subtly fiddling at the hem of her shirt and lifts her eyebrows. "Are you saying you wanna take this off for me?"

"I—yeah." She tugs it up the tiniest bit further and lets out a low whistle. "Fuck, nice abs, hon."

"Core strength is important for yoga," she comments lightly.

"Is it, now," Alexis murmurs. She starts pressing kisses into the flat expanse of her stomach, inching her way up with careful determination to tease. Twyla grabs the hint and grabs her hands, too, guiding her left to her waist and her right to her breasts as she sits up, and Alexis does her best not to ogle like a brainless guy, but…

"I need your mouth on me, Lex." Then: "Wait." She fumbles at the buttons on Alexis' silky, sky blue short sleeved sleep top. "Can—"

Alexis nods, and she loves this, could get used to this, the way she and Twyla can anticipate each other's questions and finish each other's sentences.

She could get used to gazing up at Twyla and seeing her teeth sink into her bottom lip til it nearly splits when she starts mouthing at her breasts, kissing and licking and sucking in perfect accordance with Twy's shattered moans and breathy sighs and hisses. She could get used to feeling Twyla's hands skimming up from her waist to her chest.

She's lost in a daze, strung somewhere between dealing out pleasure and taking it in when she wonders, in what must be some type of delirium, whether the Tarot cards ever foretold or suggested that _this_ could pass between them. Not just the physicality—though Alexis bets she can cull nearly a week's worth of fabulous, A+ masturbation material out of what they've done so far—but the intimacy, too. The sense that they've arrived at the same wavelength. She doesn't necessarily buy into the concept of destiny, per se, but she _does_ subscribe to the notion that chemistry and compatibility can be improved through intentional effort. Through caring to know, the way she and Twy do, and having that shared commitment feels beautiful. It feels like something worth celebrating _with someone_ worth celebrating.

At the moment, she doesn't wanna stop celebrating Twyla's body, in particular, not if she can get away with it. And if it's idolatry to worship at the altar of her hips, if it's wicked to claim salvation's on her lips, if it's blasphemy to moan her name with holy reverence, Alexis will gladly pay those gorgeous indiscretions a thousand times over.

She has no idea how they're not completely naked yet, and while their extended foreplay has been better than nearly all the forgettable sex she's had lately, she still wants more.

"Twyla." She manages to still her hands as she grips her shorts, barely stopping herself from just pulling them down. "Do you want this? Do you want me?"

The latter question feels childish, tumbling from her mouth in a rush, but she's gotten used to guys who only like the idea of her, who treat her as arm candy, who want her body but not her baggage.

Twy's nothing like those boys, though. She doesn't just hold Alexis' gaze, she caresses it as she cups her cheek with her hand. "Of course I want you, Alexis."

It's the "of course" that gets her to fully commit. The certainty to it, as if there's no other option. The way Twyla instinctively _knows_ that was the more pressing question to answer.

"I want you right back," she promises as she tugs Twyla's shorts and underwear down her legs in one go, and she can feel her mind freeze and reboot as she takes in the sight in front of her. Because Twyla Sands is naked in her bed, and now she is, too.

"You can have me. Take me," Twyla breathes out, and there's a longing, a neediness, and a fragility to her demand, plus a hunger in her stare, that anchors Alexis even closer to her.

"With pleasure, babe. Plus, I'm a perfect lady." She winks. "What kinda host would I be if I didn't get my guest off first?"

Twyla throws her head back and nearly howls in laughter, and Alexis takes advantage of her movement to kiss the hollow of her throat, to start massaging her clit with gentle circles.

Her laugh devolves into a moan. The sound of her breath hitching will surely remain lodged in Alexis' brain long after this particular visit ends, and suddenly she's doomed in the best way—up to nearly two weeks of masturbation material, and it's all Twyla, Twyla, Twyla.

Twyla rocks her hips insistently against her, lets out what can only be described as a mewl, before she sighs against Alexis' lips, _"Please_."

She'd normally go for more teasing at such a wanton, guileless show of begging, but she needs this just as badly as Twy, and she's definitely spent long enough tracing her fingertips up and down her wetness.

She stares Twyla down for one more instant, her fingers already on the verge of sliding into her. "You want me to, Twy?"

One, two nods. "Fuck me, Alexis. Make me yours."

It's that heady blend of the tender and the profane—plus the roguish, low, jazzy timbre to Twy's voice—that's gotten them in trouble all night.

It hits a new level as Alexis slowly slides two fingers deep into Twyla, and she straight-up gasps into her mouth at the sensation, severing their kiss for a second as she breathes, "Twy. Babe. You're…"

She doesn't have words, but Twyla manages to ask, despite her voice shaking, "You like that, Lex? Hearing how wet I am for you?"

"Yes," she chokes out, tearing her gaze away from Twyla's face to look down. It's not like she's ever really doubted her sexual prowess, but there's a difference between getting a woman wet and getting her _wet_ , and the sight mesmerizes her as she moves even closer to Twy and grinds her thigh against her.

" _A-lex-is,"_ Twyla whimpers, cracking her name along each syllable's fault line, perfectly in time with the thrust of her fingers, and the way it slips free from her mouth, broken and adoring, nearly sends her reeling. "I'm already getting close—"

Alexis leans over her, moves her free hand to the back of her neck to interrupt her with another desperate kiss as she presses herself close, as close as she can get, all salt skin on salt skin when she answers, "Good. I want—I _need_ you to come for me."

She catches the first of Twyla's moans in her mouth when she eventually unravels, but lets the others— _oh my God, yes, Alexis, yes_ —ring out through her bedroom. She slowly slides her fingers back out of her when the echoes stop, and Twyla shudders, her thighs shaking.

"Thank you," she murmurs, letting the tension leave her body while she lays on her back, limbs languid, still half-gone, and Alexis automatically responds, "You're welcome," but she's not addressing Twyla directly.

No, she's staring at the pointer and middle fingers on her right hand, because they're absolutely _coated_ in Twyla's orgasm. She can feel her stir, feels the bed shift as she sits up. She's staring now, too, and Alexis can't resist putting on a show. So she refuses to break their eye contact as she slowly, deliberately sucks on her pointer finger.

That initial action is designed to provoke; Alexis isn't shy about being brazen, after all. But she's not thinking about turning Twy on more when her eyes roll back in her head, when she moans as she tastes her—those things just happen.

" _Fuck,"_ Twyla whispers, nearly staring through her with—Alexis can't tell what. It's a blazing look, and she wonders for a second if she's gone too far, gotten too promiscuous, but then Twyla's gently caught her wrist and she's leaning forward and flashing the _biggest_ doe eyes ever as she takes her middle finger all the way into her mouth, obscenely wrapping her tongue around it.

Somewhere in the far-flung, semi-functioning recesses of her lust-addled mind, Alexis' subconscious recognizes, _"You won't need to watch porn for at least a month at this rate."_

Not that she's complaining about that at all.

**

"You're _so_ fucking good at being bad, Alexis," Twyla sighs with a contentment that settles in her bones as they sink into another kiss.

"Takes two to tango, Twy," she murmurs back as she lets her take the lead and steer her onto her bed, on her back. "And I wouldn't want anyone else as my partner in crime."

"I can dig that," she tells Alexis, a soft smile playing on her lips, and Alexis can't help but wonder how she missed this before.

" _I'll have time to think about that later,"_ she decides, but it's less of a decision and more of a compulsion to live in the present, what with Twyla trailing kisses from her chest down to her stomach.

She flicks her eyes upward as she angles her head to the side and kisses the inside of her left thigh, adding a tender bite for good measure, and they don't need words anymore. Alexis just nods at her and lets her head loll back on her neck for a second; she'll be sitting up to watch in a minute or two, anyway.

Or now. Since Twyla's wrapped her hands around her thighs and she's licking her with long, teasing strokes and swirling her tongue around her clit in steady circles and that keening, almost pathetic moan was just born in the back of her throat because _holy shit,_ Twy's kind of an oral sex goddess.

She wonders if she actually says that aloud when Twyla pauses for a second to look up at her.

Cockiness looks incredible on her, especially with where she's positioned, and she has the outsized audacity to smirk and ask, "Are you having fun, babe?"

"Am I—" Alexis shakes her head in stunned surprise, then blows out a laugh at the question and at every surprise she and Twyla have shared tonight, too, at every twist and turn that led them here.

From there, it's a reflex. One Alexis hasn't flexed in a while, sure, but muscle memory's a nice thing. Both her hands snap out and she gradually, gently establishes her grip in Twyla's hair, at the back of her head, ready to pull back if she seems at all uncomfortable. But Twyla, bless her, gets the message and sinks back down to keep eating her out.

Or, rather, she nearly does.

She whispers, with her eyes still locked on Alexis, her body tensed as she settles back between her thighs, "Tell me how good I'm being for you."

"Twyyy." Her name comes out sharp, in a panted breath that extends on and on as she resumes going down on her in earnest.

"You're—you're amazing—you're so—oh my _fucking God_ , don't stop," she moans. She's searching for another adjective but nothing can do Twyla justice; Alexis normally needs her partners to finger her during oral to get off, but Twy's got her on edge with just her mouth. "Keep going, baby, please keep fucking going, keep driving me crazy," she begs, or maybe orders, beyond caring that her voice cracks, beyond caring about anything beyond how perfectly Twyla alternates between deep, long licks and sucking on her clit.

Alexis chants her name in a breathless rush and interlaces it with obscenities as she bucks her hips against her mouth and finally, blissfully tumbles headlong into the best orgasm she's gotten from another person in at least eight months.

"You're _delicious,_ darlin," Twyla murmurs reverently afterwards, her voice dripping like salted caramel, and Alexis can't say if she moans louder at the compliment or at tasting herself when Twy effortlessly slides her tongue into her mouth.

"You're...wow." Alexis releases a shaky breath as she tugs Twyla close, encouraging her to rest her head on her chest.

"I'm wow," Twyla repeats as she looks up at Alexis, the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt buried in her response. "I take it that's a good thing?"

"Duh, babe," Alexis murmurs affectionately as she trails her fingers through Twyla's hair.

"You're pretty wow, yourself, then," Twyla observes before offering her a gentle kiss.

"So…" her yawn interrupts her question. "If this was the start of us being something more, it was fantastic."

"You're telling me."

Her eyes are fluttering shut even as they manage to stumble to their feet to get their pajamas back on and she can't stay awake too much longer to chat with Twy, though she wants to. "Take a raincheck on that discussion til tomorrow?" she proposes.

Twyla nods as she snuggles against her for a second once they're back in bed, and Alexis instinctively clutches at her shoulder before she drifts off to sleep.

**

Alexis has participated in more than her fair share of trysts over the years, but even she doesn't know what the proper morning-after etiquette is for her current scenario, aka "You and your best friend had unexpected, absurdly satisfying sex last night." She figures donuts, fruit, and yogurt are a good start, though.

She scribbles a note— _in case you wake up before I'm back, don't worry, I wasn't kidnapped, just dashed to the bakery down the street to get a variety pack of donuts_ —and leaves it on top of Twyla's phone on her dresser so she'll be sure to see it. She's about to head out when she impulsively adds _xoxo A_ to it _._ As if anyone else would be writing post-its in her apartment.

She has her mind focused on breakfast treats while she's making her donut selections, but her thoughts drift over to Twyla on her walk back, and how exactly to share that she's kinda, sorta pretty sure she wants to date her. Or at least take a stab at it to see how it goes.

" _Doing distance again would suck,"_ she concedes. _"But there's a massive difference between the distance gap of Schitt's Creek to the Galapagos and Schitt's Creek to NYC. And…"_

Most of her Twyla-related thoughts over the last ten-ish hours have been X-rated, for great fucking reason, but now, she pictures the two of them actually going on dates in the city, maybe catching off-Broadway shows. Getting roped into online game nights with David, Patrick, and Stevie. Basking in each other's company in Twy's quaint house when she flies in from New York.

She feels herself grinning and she realizes no one else she's tried dating since Ted can compare to her best friend.

Who, if she gets her way, might just become her girlfriend.

" _And I'm pretty good at getting my way,"_ she thinks, almost laughing at how insufferably smug that sounds, even if it's the truth.

She's glad Twyla's awake when she returns home, even if her good-morning kiss comes with a slight admonishment of, "Maybe don't make references to kidnappings when you leave post-it notes for your guests."

"I'll remember that for next time," Alexis promises, but she can't quite keep the smile off her face, especially not when Twyla comments, "You seem to be in a great mood."

"Well, I have donuts," she gestures toward the box she just set down on her kitchen counter, "and you're here, and you, pardon my French, gave me a hurricane of an orgasm last night."

Twy's mischievous grin, one Alexis loves for how it seems to be made for her eyes only, sparkles as she winks. "You're welcome."

"Oh, and," Alexis goes on, not sure if this is the best way to approach the situation, but when it comes to emotions and potentially unnerving Serious Talks, she'd rather throw firecrackers first, rather than drop bombs, "In terms of guests, I'm thinking that won't need to be plural. Well, except for, like, if David and Patrick or Stevie ever visit, but Stevie's probably the only one who'd actually stay here. So maybe you could keep it plural, but, like, small plural."

She winces; she can practically see her messy sentences dropping to the floor, all mismatched like a jumble of Scrabble tiles.

Thank God Twyla can interpret them correctly, though. "Then Stevie and I would be your only guests? Is that what you're saying?"

"Mmhmm." She hesitates, then adds on, all awkward pauses, "But--but she wouldn't be my guest the same way that _you'd_ be my guest, Twy."

Twyla cocks her head to the side. "And what, pray tell, would the difference be?"

Well, shit, looks like dropping the bomb will have to do. "I'd—I'd want you to be my guest as, like, my girlfriend. If—if dating me is something you'd want to do, or try, or consider—"

Twyla gets to her feet slowly, silently, from where she's been sitting at the kitchen table, and that's the first thing that shuts Alexis up.

The second is her nodding, smiling softly, and murmuring, "Knew you'd get there eventually. And I'd love to date you, Alexis," just before she kisses her.

Alexis hugs her tight and only pulls away when both their stomachs grumble.

Twyla blushes fire-engine red as she asks, "So is this a breakfast date, now?"

Alexis beams at her. "It can be, but first—just gotta take care of one little thing."

She snatches her phone out of her purse and deletes her Tinder and Hinge apps.

With the way Twyla's looking at her, she won't need to re-download them anytime soon.


End file.
